


Dead Men Walking

by Elyssian



Category: Night at the Museum (2006 2009)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-06 12:45:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3134987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elyssian/pseuds/Elyssian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(SPOILERS for Secret of the Tomb)<br/>Ahkmenrah is having a great time in the British Museum. His parents are there, the Extensive Egypt exhibition is homely and there's a knight several doors down who's taken it as his job to defend the pharaoh. Though it is not the same as New York, it is a good enough life. But then Larry Daley stumbles in, dazed and dying from a stab wound. </p><p>When Larry spends some time off in England to visit the museum, he gets killed by a seemingly random street thug. Dazed, Larry runs to the safest place he knows of. And wakes up the next night, dead and lying in a scaphoragus.<br/>(UPDATE- A REWRITTEN VERSION WILL GO UP IN 2016.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dead Men Tell No Tales

Getting stabbed in the gut was surprisingly painless. There was brief flash but then it was numb. Larry couldn't feel his lower left torso _at all._

_(Later, when he is not as delirious, he realises that was bad thing.)_

He doesn't really remember the attack, only some of before it. An odd argument. Anger on his part. A sense of betrayal. Then his habitually kept torchlight snapping in two clean halves, blocking the thing he thinks went into his rib after that.

A knife, he remembers. A really weird knife that looked… out of place. But he doesn't remember what it looks like, only a yellow glint from the streetlight.

But he remembers thinking about ‘safety’, but not his safety. The safety of something else. His safety was second priority. He needed to make sure something was safe.

And he ran, stumbled _(there is an odd floating, feeling here)_ and the next thing he knows he's crashing into tiled floors, staring at Egyptian doors he hasn't seen in four years.

* * *

 

 Akhmenrah has taken to wandering his new home in his nights. He would have mapped it, made use of his meagre cartography skills, but unfortunately maps are available at every part of the building.

The night guard Tilly, while not the same as Larry, is good woman and Ahkmenrah is delighted to know that the tablet's presence here has changed her mind about her job. Tilly is also a more lively conversation maker compared to Larry, though tonight she will be dealing with the more spirited exhibits in Asia.

(Also, his father quite likes that she kisses the staff.)

So tonight he wanders the halls of Greece/Rome, watching the still so awkward movements of incomplete stone statues. While most think it is eerie, Akhmenrah quite likes this section, for its peace though sometime the Romans are as good for their order. (Unless you were near the Pompeii exhibit. Lots of screaming were always heard there.)

Tonight however he watches stone depictions of men point him towards a hall with urgency, harried like he has never seen before. The paintings a make a wave of movements, and directs him to where he know an intersection with a window waits.

The window is open tonight, letting in snow and fresh cold air. Ahkmenrah airs the tablet sometimes, letting the moonlight replenish it lest it fail again. He thinks that maybe one of the exhibits have found the open window, and is sitting under it, enjoying the air and slumped forward in sleep.

But it cannot be an exhibit, because _the exhibits do not bleed._

“ _Larry_?”

* * *

 

 

Larry wakes to stifling air, dusty and old. Thus, he wakes up sneezing.

The lights are flipped on after the second sneeze, but oddly-

_Wait those aren't the lights._

Larry Daley blinks as Lancelot pushes off the golden lid and Ahkmenrah stares down at him in a frown, so very foreign on his face.

“Are you alright Larry?”

He blinks and tries to move his stiff joints and unresponsive limbs. _Huh. Must be from sleeping in an Egyptian coffin_.

“Man Ahk, it's really cramped and dusty in here.”

“That's because my son is much leaner than you, and it is built for him.”

Larry hears Merenkahre's comment and pushes him self up with help from Lancelot. Larry notices from his seat in the Pharaoh's coffin that the entire cast of the British Museum- from Tilly to Trixy to the Tibetian Garuda- is staring at him.

“What?”

Murmurings start and Tilly speaks up over the mass of of Pompeiians dangling off her.

“Uh… um… you don't remember Mr Daley?”

Larry frowns. Did he go drinking in London last night? Might explain what he was doing in here.

“Uh, no, why am I here-”

Then Larry looks down at the dried blood on his clothes.

_And he remembers being stabbed. Pain, sharp pain and painful numbness that is wrong because pain should still be here, he remembers being stabbed in some moon illuminated place and a cold blade going in and under his rib and the snow turning red and-_

“Larry!”

Someone has a hand on his back, the other at his chest. Ahkmenrah's slim fingers. And his parents and Tilly have drawn closer, Tilly with a paper bag. Larry's voice is breathless as he waves her off.

“I'm not going to hurl.”

Ahkmenrah's voice floats into his ears, everything else a dull ringing.

“No, but you were hyperventilating.”

Lancelot's accent carried over the ringing this time, punctuated clearly but too loud for Larry.

“Do you remember now?”

_Remember… remember… remember…_

“Yeah. I got murdered didn't I?”


	2. And Odder Still

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Larry is up and the British museum brings more memories than he expects.

In the time it took Larry to run through his first course of hyperventilation, most the museum had been ushered away by the Anubis statue (through growling and spear prodding that Ahkmenrah had chided against) and Lancelot (with his too-loud voice). They left Larry as he was, sitting in the coffin, being prodded by a persistent Garuda and with Tilly pulling things out of a bag. All for him, she had said.   
  
Larry watched as the Garuda danced around and accompanied Tilly's show & tell with extravagant hand-motions and dance moves he was sure didn't come from Tibet.   
  
"Stuff for you, you know?"  
  
She showed him the mess in the bag.  
  
"Some first aid and spare clothes-"  
  
Was that a turtleneck?  
  
"-we've a got a shower in the locker room for people who do overtime or accidents, and some other stuff to calm your nerves like these biscuits - "  
  
"Cookies."  
  
"-didn't know what to get so I've got Oreos- and this thermos of chamomile tea-"  
  
"Thanks, Tilly."  
  
Larry didn't know if Tilly always stuffed a mass into one sentence but the bubbly-ness was kinda new for him. Reminded a little of Amelia Earhart's spirit but with less periods and more twenty-first century.   
  
(He kinda missed her. She had moxy he really needed at the moment.)  
  
Larry had could feel the dry blood caking his skin  flaking off, and it felt like the time he'd spilled paint on himself when he was redecorating the apartment. _Uncomfortable_. Tilly mentioned a shower didn't she?  
  
"So, um, I really interested in getting this blood off me so-"  
  
"I'll show you, it's down that corner."  
  
Tilly pointed to the doorway of Egypt and jerked her thumb to the left, than straight and down more corners he couldn't remember.   
  
"Uh thanks, mind just showing me there?"  
  
"Oh, yeah."  
  
She re-packed her bag while Ahkmenrah and Lancelot offered him a hand. Larry took both, but had to let go of when he was yanked out by the force of Lancelot's pull.

“Sorry!”

He was steadied by Ahkmenrah, who curiously stared at his new-born bambi-ness when he teetered but reassuringly banished Larry's sudden frown.   
  
"You've just come back from the dead, your mobility will need some time."  
  
It was still a little embarrassing to use the Pharaoh as a crutch though; Larry was hobbling along, supported by Ahkmenrah and trailing after Tilly with Merenkahre glaring at them. He could feel it digging into his back. And he was pretty the next thing digging into his back was either the staff or the Anubis's spear.   
  
"I think your dad's about to go off on a tirade about proper respect for pharaohs there."  
  
Ahkmenrah's lips twitched into a smile, morphing into a more familiar expression that brought twinges, memories of days spent in another museum.   
  
"I believe my mother is one the about to go off on a tirade."  
  
He was right. Seconds later Larry heard the feminine voice of Shepseheret speaking in Egyptian; but it was not directed at them, and as Larry turned the corner he saw her chuckling at her husband. (His meagre understanding of Egyptian told him the word erelaxf was in there somewhere.)   
  
They shuffled away and Akhmenrah's parents thankfully did not follow, and the corridors were empty save for some paintings who were staring at them.   
  
As they turned the third corner, Larry notice the absence of a certain knight.   
  
"Where'd Lancelot go?"  
  
"Over there."  
  
Larry craned his neck and they slowed to see the knight flustered and demanding that Trixy the Triceratops spit out a gold bird.   
  
“Trixy has this bad habit of mistaking the smaller animals as chew toys.”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
He had been lucky with Rex then, who only ever pestered the cavemen. (And again the memories sunk into his heart, uncomfortable in their nostalgia.)   
  
They hobbled faster to catch up with Tilly, who had stopped far ahead to adjust a bust's hair.   
  
"So how'd I get here? I don't remember much beyond-"  
  
- _getting murdered-_  
  
“-um, the stabbing. I don't even remember heading for the museum.”

He heard Ahkmenrah mutter as he shifted Larry to a more comfortable position that required the shorter man to go under his arm; and by default it becaume more embaressing for Larry.   
  
“I had found you by the window, barely conscious. You were muttering something about esafetyf. The safety of what, I do not know. I had carried you to the Egypt section where you had collapsed. Dawn was coming so we hid you in the scaphoragus and I went into the glass display.”  
  
 _Safety?_  
  
“Ah. Explains why I briefly remember staring at the Egyptian doors. Sorry about you having to go on display.”  
  
“No matter Larry. I am used to it.”  
  
They hobbled along again and Larry wondered just how far the locker room was.   
  
“Is it weird that I can't remember much?”  
  
“No, it takes a while. From my experience the first thing you remember is being killed, and quite vividly. The rest comes much later.”  
  
 _From my experience_. No wonder Ahkmenrah was so young, he must have been assassinated like so many other princes and kings. Larry had never asked, because asking someone how they died seemed so odd and… invasive.   
  
“We're here!”  
  
Tilly had stopped at a door nearly the same shade of brown as the wall. She unlocked the door, tried turning the handle and then threw her weight against it. Larry and Ahkmenrah stopped at the door way, where Tilly had fallen and was now sprawled on the ground.   
  
“The door likes to jam sometimes, but don't worry I'm alright.”  
  
“You sure?”  
  
“Yeah, shower's this way.”  
  
Tilly guided them to corner with lockers and curtained showers. From some other part of the building, Larry hears a screech and the chorused yells. Tilly looks out the door with worry.   
  
“I'm gonna have to get that. I'll leave the bag here and here take the first aid kit.”  
  
She passed over a white and red box before dashing out the door.   
  
Ahkmenrah set Larry down on a bench and examined the contents.  
  
“Ah, good there are stitches here. You know, father was going on about mummifying you.”  
  
Larry remembered that. A well meant promise to remove his organs and put them in jewelled jars.   
  
“Thank god he didn't do that.”  
  
Ahkmenrah had set aside the stitches and was pushing around the bandages, settling his hand on some cotton swabs and taking those out too.   
  
“I convinced him that the injustice of your murder must be corrected first.”  
  
Ahkmenrah set a bottle of distilled water aside before pushing away the kit and readying a swab.   
  
Larry rolled the word around his tongue. _Murder._ Do people get used to saying they've been murdered? Then again, most people didn't get resurrected by magic tablets.   
  
As if sensing his thoughts, Akhmenrah turned to look him the eye.   
  
“It will take getting used to Larry. But rest assured we will do our best to help you, as you have done for us in the past.”  
  
 _Us._ Him, his parents, Lancelot and the guys at New York- it was a comforting feeling to have people behind him.   
  
“Thanks Ahk.”  
  
The smile retuned again now, a bit sunnier than before.   
  
“Now take off your shirt, I need to see the wound.”  
  
Mobility had by now graced his limbs so Larry was able to remove his coat and shirt with little difficulty, save the twinges at his side. He lifted his arm to see and Ahkmenrah winced at it. He lifted two fingers to prod. Larry had expected the chill of a dead body but the fingers were not as cold as he thought they should be. Or was that because he was dead and he was not as warm as he should be?  
  
“This looks rather nasty. Looks like someone twisted in a long dagger.”  
  
“So I got knifed by a thug. Crappy way to die.”

There was a dissapointing tone to that; Larry had never expected to die like that, not when he'd fought at the side of Attila, Roosevelt and an Egytian king, not when once he and a pilot had fought another Egyptian King, not when he had raced across london and electrocuted a nine-headed snake for his friends. But no one really ever expects dying do they?

Larry lifted his hand higher as Ahkmenrah began dabbing at the wound with damp cotton swabs, clearing the inside of the wound.   
  
“Actually Larry, we do not think it was a thug.”  
  
Larry doesn't feel the stitches, it's more of the tugs at his skin he senses. Was this how Ahkmenrah felt? No pain?   
  
“What do you mean it wasn't a thug?”  
  
“You had your wallet on you. It's still in your coat pocket, with your passport.”  
  
“Say _what?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will try very hard to update weekly, thank you so much for telling me this fic was okay. i hope it continues being okay, and i have plans for this.


	3. The Mysterious Circumstances of Larry Dalley, Guradian of Brooklyn (though it's Manhattan now)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one knows anything, and Larry tries a little talking with Ahk. Too bad his dad makes good distractions.

_“Hey dad? This is Nick, again. You said you would call the the day before yesterday but you didn't so I'm calling to see why you're not calling and because mom's asking and I wanna know how the museum is. And McPhee too, weirdly. Asking about another exchange. Yeah so, call back? Or pick up next time? Not being rude or anything, but how busy can you be? Okay yeah, you could be busy but- never mind. Just call back will you?”_

* * *

 

“Okay so last night I was killed by someone, with a knife.”

“Yes.”

“Then I somehow found myself in the museum, though logically I shouldn't have been able to.”

“You wouldn't have made it past the gates in that state.”

“But my valuables are all mysteriously with me.”

“It is certainly odd.”

Ahkmenrah, his parents, Lancelot, Tilly and Larry made for a very odd audience as they sat on the steps of the main staircase (with Asia to the right), watching Trixy play ‘catch the Garuda’. Garuda looked like he was used to this and was doing a very good job of not ending up in the fossil's jaws. It was debatable if he was dodging or dancing again though.

“Don't forget the ‘safety’.”

Lancelot had given him a pat on the shoulder, though with him it was more of heavy slap. (A heavy slap Larry does not feel as much as he should.) Larry rolled his shoulder, watching as the Garuda ran into the snake room. Beside him, Ahkmerah contemplated the word. (His father it seemed, still was keen on mummifying Larry.)

“What safety though?”

“Mine?”

“While I appreciate the thought that being with us is the safest place for you, a hospital or police station would have been more practical Larry.”

Larry shrugged. It was true that nightfall the museum would be his haven but it felt odd to say that out loud. Odd because really the police station was only blocks away and he hadn't been planning on visiting Ahk- the museum either. And he had a feeling that wasn't true either. It was the safety of something else… something here?

“You must have been delirious.”

Lancelot delivers his verdict with the firmness that lines all his words, like the yell at Trixy seconds later as he spots the wrestling competition between her and the nine-headed snake.

“Excuse me.”

“Uh sure.”

The knight launched himself forward, and right into the battle at Asia. There was a collective wince as the triceratops gave an enthusiastic whap to Lancelot's face with his tail while turning around. The watch the wax knight go flying and the metal dancers flee as he sails past them. Crashing sounds are unfollowed by other sounds, suggesting that perhaps the knight is out for tonight.

“Maybe the safety of the museum?”

“Maybe.”

But what would be dangerous to the museum? Someone aiming for the tablet? So few people knew about it and what it could do…

They went back to staring at the prehistoric-fantasy brawl, cheered by a dancing Garuda.

“So what do I do know?”

“… adjust?”

* * *

 

It happened while he was watching the snow.

Most the exhibits got too excited outdoors so most weren't allowed outside. There was also the fact that the Museum wasn't exactly secluded. The best they could go for was some gathering at the roof. Larry had moved away from where some exhibits were encircling the moon-bathing tablet, half between ritual worship and simple performance. Merenkahre was watching them, occasionally whapping an exhibit that had gotten too close with his staff. For a moment, Larry thought he saw McPhee, yelling at children to keep their paws off Rexy.

Larry had been sitting at the edge, watching the light snow fall when he remembered the first thing.

An old memory, one of his first as a night guard, chasing a carriage through snow and his first battle for the museum.

Larry had perhaps spent too much time trying to say goodbye, trying to tear himself away, that the nostalgia was painful for him. He remembered what he had told Teddy four years ago.

_I'm not ready._

_(And perhaps he never really was.)_

So he tried searching for other memories, memories away from good days he had never wanted to go away.

He lands on a memory of a conversation, held in the snow.

_“-really Mr Daley this need not be so complex. Your friend gave good enough information before we killed him, we need very little from you-”_

_She is not familiar, but something about her is reminiscent. The way she carries herself. And there is fury in his blood, cold livid fury._

_“Hell no, you crazy-”_

_The London Eye glows in the far distance, visible from their high perch-_

_“-the safety of- my priority-”_

_The blade glows that strange way again, maybe because of its shape-_

“Larry?”

He is pulled away so sharply away from his memories, that the startled jump nearly sends him over the edge of the roof.

“Ahk! Jeez, don't sneak up me like some Egyptian ninja…”

“Egyptian ninja?”

Larry sees that behind the smile the frown doesn't disappear, it intensifies.

“Why the frown?”

Larry settles with his back to the guard wall, and Ahkmenrah settles on a patch of snow.

“I've known you long enough to notice when you are hiding something behind humour Larry.”

The pharaoh moved himself beside Larry, robes and legs dangling over the edge. Behind them, the circle is getting closer to a ritual and less like a dance. For better or for worse, Merenkahre has started directing it.

“I just… remembered something.”

Ahkmenrah senses the discomfort, the rigid line of Larry's form and the bitten lips.

“If you do not wish to share the details you do not need to Larry. But it might feel better if you do.”

The words help little, but little is enough for now. Slow steps, and then they can start thinking about the bigger problem.

“Yeah… I think I might remember who killed me… and something about the ‘safety’ thing.”

“You remember who killed you?”

This takes Ahkmenrah by surprise (and perhaps he thinks of vengeance too quickly) but Larry shakes his head.

“Just a face without a name. And even then I'm not one-hundred percent sure. I just remember arguing with a woman, and being really pissed. And being threatened I think.”

“Do you remember the details?”

Larry shrugs.

“We were somewhere high I think. And I was mad at her for threatening me- no, not me. For threatening the safety of something. Something here. I think.”

Larry sighs and runs his hand through greying hair.

“Not helping much aren't I? It's just really fuzzy.”

Ahkmenrah places a comforting hand on his shoulder and it helps, helps a lot because Larry's shoulders sag and lose their stiffness.

“It's enough for now Larry. Remembering your death is not supposed to be easy.”

He would know, Larry supposed.

“Okay thanks.”

They would have lapsed into silence, comfortable silence watching London get powdered White is Larry's mind had not slipped.

“How did you die?”

Larry bites down on his tongue a little too late and watches as Ahkmenrah shifts uncomfortably. Then he sighs, sighs the life out of him as shoulders sag and eyes lose their glimmer.

“I had been sick, and my brother had offered me a cup of medicine. I was a fool to trust him, you might say, but I do not regret hoping that my brother was not as mad as the tales I were told.”

“Oh, so… it was poison?”

Ahkmenrah nodded. Larry had thought perhaps the pharaoh had been stabbed too (a common way of assassination) or strangled since he could see no marks on the hazel skin.

“Sorry for asking. Stupid of me to, my tongue slipped.”

Larry apologisers through hand motions that stop when Ahkmenrah stills them with his hands, meeting the dark brown matching eyes.

“I have had centuries to come to terms with my death. The focus here should be on you.”

Whatever semblance they had of a moment was lost when they hear the chanting and turn to see the exhibits hailing the Tablet, Merenkahre in lead, now hoisted by the Garuda. Who is prancing on top of the elephant that wasn't supposed to be there. And then the metaphorical, giant neon sign above it screaming **‘REALLY OBVIOUS WIERD THING’.**

“ _OH MY GOD GUYS.”_


	4. Meanwhile, in other places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile with Nick, several seconds of McPhee, a little back story on Kahmunrah the grumpy and Tilly gets more screen time. Marginally.

“ _Hi this is Larry Dalley, I'm not here at the moment so please-”_

_Click._

“You have got to be kidding me dad.”

Without the tablet, the museum of natural history was unnaturally quiet (and so unlike the home he remembers) so Nick Dalley had spent the first half hour of his shift dialling numbers on his phone. First mom, then a friend, then a father who does not answer.

Lonely was the understatement of the week.

(Nick remenbers mosy clearly all the homework help he'd gotten, and all the homework mishaps that had involved Huns and Capuchin's that liked tearing things apart.)

The uniform fit him well. McPhee said it used to be Cecil's, and though Nick had tried on his father's he had discovered that it hadn't fit. (It had been too short, to Nick's surprise.)

So Nick was left sitting on the receptionist table, juggling his torchlight and the spares he found in a locker. Until a voice emerging from the perpetual darkness oh shins him sends him nearly tumbling off his seat.

“Who might you be?”

Nick looked up and dropped the torches.

* * *

 

_“Larry? Larry Daley? It's Cecil. There something you need to know, ASAP. Call back, damn it kid!”_

* * *

 

Somewhere in the process of extinguishing the ritual fire, watching Merenkahre get chewed out by his wife and getting lost, his phone had been liberated from him by Tilly, who had proclaimed herself capable of fixing it.

“Well, not exactly fix it but my neighbour two doors down probably can. Probably.”

But now he's lost, and trying to get the China elephant he's gotten down from the roof to tell him where Asia is. He can hear the Greek bust behind him snickering at him. Talking to the China elephant. _Argh._

“Guardian of Brooklyn?”

Larry turns and nearly sweeps the Egyptian queen's headdress off with his arm flailing. (He still hasn't gotten the hang of some limbs. How did Lancelot pull off his first night so well?”

Apparently the bust wasn't snickering; he was doing some weird ogling sound at Shepseheret, for which Larry glares at when he turns.

“Uh, hi, um, your highness.”

My lady? Your majesty? Was she as much of stiff as Merenkahre? Was there a staff to be kissed?

“Shepseheret is fine.”

“Oh okay then. And it Larry. Larry Dalley, though just Larry is fine.”

Shepseheret smiles, a warm smile that oozes maternity and Larry can see why Ahkmenrah is alway grinning around her. She definitely looks like the doting parent, though Merenkahre's love for his son seems equally boundless.

(For example, _I love my new son so much he should defy mortality!_ )

“I wish to speak with you about something, Larry, before Ra's light comes upon us.”

“Uh, okay, shoot.”

“It is to my understanding that you met Kahmunrah?”

* * *

 

Tilly Rebelicca Wilsons, named after an odd aunt who demanded her name be so, is the night guard of the British museum and holder of the world's best job.

But her boyfriend is a museum artefact in another continent, which leaves her absentmindedly staring off into the distance, sighing.

In a normal museum, this would be fine. In a museum where all the artefacts come to life at night, artefacts who are more than capable of burning the building down alone, this is bad.

But Lancelot knows what it means to have love so far out of grasp, so he sympathises and tries to herd the exhibits in her place.

(Tilly at the very least yearns for someone who exists. Lancelot still yearns for his tall tale.)

It is awkward at least, for him to be holding a plunger to the tip of Mount Vesuvius with hundred of Pompeiians starting up at him expectantly.

“I'll have this plugged up-”

The rubber cup started smoking, and melting.

“Never mind. We shall be spending this night somewhere else perhaps. Come along, citizens of Pompeii.”

He tossed the ruined plunger over his shoulder and knelt, offering a palm to the miniatures. They clambered up into it, then up his arm and seating themselves quite comfortably in the grooves and niches of his armour.

Muttering under his breath, Lancelot got up to grab the fire extinguisher.

“All I do is put out fires.”

The Pompeiians sighed as the white substance coated their city. One of them whispers in Latin.

“At least it's not monkey's piss again.”

The others hum in agreement.

* * *

 

“I'm sorry, who are you?”

“The night guard.”

“Oh, uh hi.”

Of course it would the night guard. She had the keys. He slipped off the desk to shake her hand.

“I'm Nick, Nick Dalley. McPhee called me to take over your shift while you were sick?”

“Hello, Nick Dalley. My name is Leila.”

She had a posture, and pronunciation a little too proper to be American, too oddly phrased for and English person. Her skin was olive, a shade similar to a pharaoh Nick once knew.

“Hi, good to see you healthy. Are you a foreigner?”

She seemed friendly enough, and save for the odd structure of her speech she seemed like a nice person to talk to.

“Yes, I was born in Cairo. I came here many a year ago. Are you the son of Larry Dalley?”

She knew dad. Either McPhee has regaling her with tales or she took a history class.

“Yeah, yeah I am. Did you take a history class?”

“Yes. I took some of the free lessons your father gave, which was offered to me when our paths crossed during a visit to this museum.”

“Oh okay.”

Nick fiddled with his torchlight. He wanted to stay a bit longer, but he probably had to go now.

“If you wish to stay the night and perhaps earn a shift's worth of money, you are free to do so Dalley. I will be with you as soon as I am attired.”

Nick smiled.

“Thanks. Just Nick is fine though.”

She smiled, and then reminded him that this flashlights were still on the floor.

__

* * *

 

“ _Dalley? This is McPhee. Fredericks called with an emergency that really shouldn't be discussed over the phone and it would be most appreciated if my former night guard would hop by the museum. Oh wait, you're in England- never mind just call.”_

* * *

 

“Yeah, I met a wax figure of Kahmunrah.”

They were seated on her scaphoragus lid, which was a little bumpy and weird for Larry, but Shepseheret had said it was fine.

“A wax figure?”

“Yeah… his underworld gate and coffin where there but the body was apparently not in it. I read it in an article. They used some fancy technology to reconstruct a wax figure of what he looked like based on the organs in his canopic jars.”

The queen blinked at him.

“What?”

“I technically met a copy of him, not the real him.”

“Ah.”

He'd checked after the Smithsonian battle; he noticed that when he arrived at first Kahmunrah wasn't a corpse. He had frozen in place, but intact and not a pile of bones. And after running it through Ahkmenrah with less than pleasant effects.

(He really didn't know Ahkmenrah had ancient PTSD.)

Shepseheret seemed relieved by this, for reasons Larry did not know but was told.

“Ahkmenrah's image of his brother might be preserved. My son does not think that the tales of his brother's reputation is as bad as it is.”

“Oh.”

Ahkmenrah did seem to have a degree of respect for his brother, an uncertainty in his eyes when they told him about the Smithsonian. Speaking of which…

“What is Kahmunrah's story anyway? There's not much documentation about your family's rule.”

“Yes, I heard.”

Shepseheret sighed and explained.

“Kahmunrah is the son of Merenkahre's lesser wives. I am the ‘main wife’; the queen, but I was sadly not very fertile. Kahmunrah was the only son of my husband's other wives, the rest were daughters. It was assumed for nearly a half a decade that he would inherit the throne, until Ahkmenrah, my son, was birthed. Kahmunrah hid his bitterness well, and I admit it was my mistake for shunning my husband's other wives and offspring so; to garner that much hate, I am sure flames were fuelled by me.”

Larry nodded slightly; well now he knew the whole back story. Or at least half of it. But something was egging him…

“How did Ahkmenrah die? I don't wan't to be rude here but it seems like a sensitive issue.”

Shepseheret smiled.

“Not at all. Ahkmenrah was a frail boy; he was prone to fevers. He died of one.”

* * *

 

In the Museum of Natural History, keys are handed to McPhee, doors unlocked and night guards bade farewell.

The sun was rising, slow and offering the bare warmth of light. Warmth that McPhee was finding lacking, but fixed with the coffee in his hands. Which he would have drunk, had he not seen a stony Cecil Fredricks come up the steps.

* * *

 

The sun in London offers less warmth with the coming of dawn, though the clouds that obscure it are to blame. The clouds has kept at it since Tilly left the museum and now she peers at the door of her apartment in the grey light of a corridor light yet to be fixed.

More minutes of scrutinising determines that the new stain on it is merely a splash of water (the cleaner gives her a wave six doors down) and not the aftermath of a drunk neighbour.

Speaking of neighbours, there is one she needs to pay a visit to.

“Hey, Terrence? You near the door?”

“People ask if you're home Tilly, not if you're near the door.”

“It's pre-twelve, of course you're still awake gaming, you night owl.”

There is sound of rolling wheels before the door across Tilly's opens and a bespectacled bed-head pops out.

“You used to game with me tII Tilly. What can I do to help my night guard-ly friend, other than telling her to beware being near Barnie?”

“For the thousandth time McGinnis, it's Barnabus!”

The voice echoes from the next door room, a testament not to thin walls but sharp ears.

“Let me guess, the crazy girlfriend Collins got from France got past the bail?”

“Yep.”

Tilly has a moment of pity for the other neighbour, before she pulls Larry's old and snapped phone in a bag.

“Need you to fix this.”

“Ow. That is sad. Can I get ten pounds?”

“You're insufferable Terry. I'll leave you some of my aunts pie.”

“Half.”

“The whole thing.”

The door splits open wider to accommodate the hand that slips out and the smile to shine through.

“Yes! You are heavenly Wilsons, heavenly.”

The phone disappears into the darkness of the room and Tilly meanders into her own dwellings, ready for tea and sleep.

* * *

 

“ _Dad? Yeah it's me and I'm really serious now. Mom things you've broken your phone. Which you might have but this is a serious matter that needs serious calling back right now.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being late, but it's a but longer this time at least? I might write another NATM fic based on a tumblr post of mine that seemed liked but what's your take on Ahk and his tablet getting sent to the Warren's Occult Museum?


	5. Continued days of unexpected silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where the murder mystery does not progress and Larry does things.

The second night of his day as a zombie, not counting the actual night he died, has been spent marvellously doing nothing, because for equally marvellous reasons they knew not what to do.

“Would the police look into you yet?”

They wouldn't, not unless Erica called or the Hotel told them someone hadn't checked in for three days, neither of which was likely.

The police wouldn't even know if it was a murder, considering the fact that the body was still walking about at night.

The exhibits themselves, though rallied by a desire to solve this murder mystery, had no idea what to do. Larry could remember very little, and that very little provided equally little help.

“All we know is that the murderer was a woman, someone familiar but you don't know very well. And you were murdered in some high ground.”

His phone had yet to be fixed, and Tilly had informed him that it might take some time.

There was, as previously stated, marvellously nothing to currently do about Larry's predicament.

But apparently there were things to do not considering his predicament.

* * *

 

“ _Hi Larry, it's Erica. Look, call Nick back okay? When you've gotten you're phone back. Or fixed. I know you must have broken it somehow you klutz. Nick is getting worried, you should call him. Really. And how's London? You haven't taken a holiday from teaching that often, I hope you get to relax on this trip. Anyway, I've got to go now, remember to call Nick.”_

* * *

 

“Hey Ahk?”

It had taken time to find the pharaoh; Larry knew he enjoyed surveying the crowds from higher ground, but the most obvious place had been taken by the senior pharaoh and his queen, so Larry had meandered about the upper floors before spotting Ahkmenrah.

“Larry! what brings you to this obscure corner?”

“Uh, you.”

Ahkmenrah watched the uncertain, trepidation in his eyes. He has known that look; he sees it when the man breaches topics that scrape against nerves, but usually it is for betterment.

(He has been on that the reviving end of that look only once before, and the words that came out of Larry's mouth was “we met Kahmunrah at the Smithsonian.” The effect had not been pleasant.)

“You're mother says you died of fever, yet you remember dying of poison. I'm guessing you haven't told them?”

This will not have pleasant effects either it seems.

* * *

 

Nick does not have his own apartment yet (though he is eyeing a familiar home in Brooklyn) so he still returns to his mother and Don, who he has never really taken to calling ‘Dad’.

“Hi Nick, who's the nice girl who walked home with you?”

“Were you spying on me from out the window?”

Nick sets his bag down, which is bigger and more filled than it needed to be, and grabs a fruit. A habit his mother finds wonderful, but his father used to snicker at. (Nothing is funnier than remembering that Huns, Romans, Cowboys, Natives, Egyptians and ex-presidents had instilled healthy habits on your son.)

Erica, though not as over-protective as Larry, is not prone to the desire for grandchildren. A desire unshared by Nick, as he waves off the maternal prodding.

“That's Leila; she works at the museum. Her house is nearby and _we were just talking.”_

The last but is sighed out, a testament to the familiarity of the words. His mother does not desist, even as Nick trails away into his dwellings.

“She seems like a nice girl.”

“Mom, I'm twenty and not about to have kids with the girl I've just known for one night.”

This halts her, giving Nick enough time to shut his door.

* * *

 

“Do not tell her.”

Too often now has Larry seen youth seep out of Ahkmenrah's features, a weariness settling on a weighed frame. The crown, the jewellery- they all look too heavy on his frame, too large even though he knows they are snug.

“You've got some good faith in your brother. Probably more than he deserves.”

Larry is not the type to put down the textbook after a test; he's the type to keep reading and look for the second edition and companion books.

After the battle of the smithsonian and a rather disastrous run-by with Ahkmenrah, Larry had typed up the psycho pharaoh with a grudge into google.

Results in the hundreds, just like the time Larry typed in Ahkmenrah, but he had found stories of a notorious, bloodthirsty reign more than twenty people were sure he had stolen from a murdered younger brother.

But Larry looks at Ahkmenrah in the eye and can't say no.

“Fine. I won't tell your mom.”

_But he can probably have a hint-hint conversation with Merenkahre right?_

“No telling my father either.”

_Well shoot._

* * *

 

Over in America, a former security guard named Brandon suddenly remembers the incident which caused him to lose his job.

Misplaced Exhibits, a tampered precious artefact from Egypt and much broken property. All in his shift and most in his sector.

How that happened, he never knew and will never know.

* * *

 

“Hey Larry.”

“Tilly.”

The night guard walks up to him with a salute; respect to another night guard who doesn't think he deserves that much respect. (But he still deserves some respect because really who else can pull off dealings with capuchins and huns without losing a limb?)

“Forgot to tell you this but there's some sort of exhibit move around going on soon.”

“Really?”

“Yeah they want to do a themed exhibition in some place. No details yet but it'll happen in a few months. Heard the theme might be something to do with countries.”

“Okay. Might pick Ahk if there's an Egypt set.”

“I was thinking they might go with Cleo.”

Larry stops. _Cleo? Who the heck was-_

“You guys have _Cleopatra?!”_

Tilly grins.

“Wanna see her?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the chapeter are going go something like this:
> 
> Short  
> (School)  
> Long  
> (School)  
> Rinse and repeat. 
> 
> Sorry for the delay! Will try for weekly/fortnightly updates that are lengthy-ish.


	6. Here, there and everywhere.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the murder mystery becomes the mystery of several murders.

Larry could see why such a degree of Cleopatra's fame originated from tales of her beauty.

She had brown eyes, the type of brown you never called muddy or dirt but warm and chocolatey. Her skin was the same as Ahkmenrah's; a smooth tan with limbs like supple mahogany. Her dark hair fell to her shoulders in a neat wave, contrasting the gold and blue crown in a remarkable way. Her lips were a thin, pale pink and set in a easy smile, nearing a devious grin with that quirk at the side.

The effect was only slightly ruined by the fact it looked like the setting of Katy Perry's Dark Horse.

Larry had frozen, watching the queen fell her suitors with a staff spewing rainbow lights. Tilly whispered into his ear.

“She likes Egyptian Gag culture. Thinks its funny.”

“Um, I see that.”

The wax figures Larry knew sometimes didn't follow their originals to a tee. Teddy was an example, and Attila was too (a fact for which Larry is grateful for) but this was like Ahkmenrah. A mummy. She wasn't a copy so this meant that Larry was looking at a real queen who really liked gag culture.

Larry stared as Cleopatra raised a staff and zapped one of her suitors.

Well, he's seen weirder things. Ahkmenrah himself had taken a liking to modern culture, so Cleopatra dancing in tune to pop? Why not?

If Nick was here he's have fun- _but Nick can't be here now can he, lest he finds out you're dead._

Larry sours and Tilly catches it. She frowns, because Cleo is usually a fun gal, and people rarely sour around her. (Unless they got zapped.)

“Gag culture not your thing?”

Larry forces the smile back into its contorted position, waving off Tilly's concern. (Which doesn't work because that smile looked _weird_ to her.)

“Nah, just thinking that, well, Nick would have liked it.”

Tilly takes the queue to not comment, and the silence holds.

Until a blue thing arcs over their heads.

“What the heck is that?”

“Don't worry, it perfectly harmless!”

The arc of light lands on a mop, propped up against the wall, and it combusts.

“That's harmless?”

“Don't worry, I got it!”

Tilly wrenches the fire extinguisher from its hold and sprays. Larry winces as the sharp tang of something that really shouldn't be burned reaches his nose. _What has the janitor been mopping here?_

“Do things catch fire a lot at AMNH?”

Larry winces as he remembers several failed attempts at teaching the cavemen how to deal with fire and not burn themselves in the process.

“You have no idea.”

* * *

 

Nick has a list of things he's sure will never happen to him. Its fun, since his second family was a group of museum exhibits who came to life at night. Its a short list, especially since he's played twister with huns, seen Teddy Roosevelt date a native american from a different time period and played fetch with a T-rex.

Nick should've have added the phone call to that list.

“Hey, Nick Daley on the phone. Anything up with the museum McPhee?”

_“Daley? Great, just who I'm looking for. Um, come down to the museum as fast as you can.”_

“What's wrong?”

_“Cecil Fredricks would like to talk to you. About the tablet. Its an emergency.”_

“Be there in… twenty.”

“ _Good, good.”_

Nick is already halfway into his jacket, sweeping it off a table, knocking aside a newspaper he should have read.

But Nick paid the fallen paper no mind, and rushed out the door.

* * *

 

Between Larry's newfound zombie strength and Tilly, they were able to carry around three fire extinguishers. It was more than enough for Pompeii (again), the dark horse mimic, random cooking fires and and flaming exhibits.

(They had to chase down some enflamed dancers, courtesy of the flame-breathing chimera in the Greece sector.)

On one side Larry was happy to not be brooding over his death, to be useful and feel a little more alive.

On the other side he was dealing with the same problems he had as a night guard; things on fire.

“Mostly the fire problems will start at Pompeii. We've tried nearly everything to plug up Vesuvius but, well, nothing's worked.”

Apparently, the fire extinguishers are effective against lava, and the foam is something the miniatures enjoy swimming in.

Larry chuckled with Tilly as they watched over the Pompeiians flailing in the foam.

“The miniatures at the AMNH never liked swimming.”

The romans in the foam chorused back in varied responses.

“They've missed a good opportunity.”

“Less fun for them, more for us.”

“How sad.”

The romans agreed with the statements then went back to swimming. They seemed oddly skilled in swimming, Larry noticed. Did the romans know how to do the butterfly?

“I showed them a bunch of youtube videos. They got interested.”

Tilly has, in a similar way to Larry, established media nights where she lets them borrow her two laptops, watch a movie or read a book.

“They tell me what book they want and I see if the library has it. We vote for movies though.”

“I did that too.”

“You did?”

Tilly's voice rises in happiness. She had a sneaking suspicion that Larry would be uptight, but it seems that she had nothing to worry about. Nothing _much_ to worry about; Larey still frowns too much.

“Yeah. The movie bit I mean. They kept watching disney.”

“Classic. Which did they like?”

“They kept asking to re-watch that pirate thing. Pirates of the Caribbean?”

“Oh, that one.”

Larry eases, and part of him forgets that he is dead.

* * *

 

“Hey, morning. Is the tablet in danger?”

“Straight to the point I see.”

Bless the fact he had sprinted from the station to the museum; Nick had no room in between pants to let old memories of Cecil seed worry.

“Did you see yesterday's paper Daley?”

“What?”

Nick wonders if this one of McPhee's indirect ways to get to the point, until he throws the paper at his face. He snatches it and flips it over. The headline, large and glaring, jumps at him.

> _**SENIOR CITIZEN FOUND STABBED AND DEAD AT RETIREMENT CENTRE.**  
>  By Marriah Williams_
> 
> _Late evening yesterday found the Manhattan Retirement Centre calling in the NYPD with the ghastly attack of Reginald Woodsworth, a former night guard…_

Nick scans the rest. Then checks if the newspaper is a joke paper. He scans the article again. Then he is left to look up in appealed shock.

“What does this have to do with the tablet?”

Cecil looks grave and McPhee twitches.

“He wasn't dead when they found him. His last words were, ‘they're after the tablet and…’,”

Nick waits for the sentence to finish. It doesn't. He raises one eyebrow in confusion.

“And what? After the tablet and what?”

“Didn't say. He died.”

Nick winced. Then thought. They could've been after the Underworld Door, it was basically an accessory to the tablet. Or they could be after the one thing that was ensured to be with the tablet. Its guardian. Nick's voice is quiet, undisturbed as Cecil waits for him to come to the same conclusion he has. 

“Ahkmenrah. They're after Ahkmenrah.”

Cecil nods.

“Most likely.”

* * *

 

At the British museum, the sun grows near, chasing away Khonsu's magic. With ten minutes to spare, the exhibits settle into place leaving no trace of their period of wakefulness. In the egyptian department, Larry wonders why Merenkahre's jackal is hollow.

“You want me to go in there?”

Ahkmenrah, to his credit, is trying to be reassuring.

“I will be better then the scaphoragus. Its roomier. I checked. And no one will notice!”

“Um… well-”

“Guys!”

They turn, seeing a flailing Tilly run towards them, phone in hand.

“McPhee called. He says there's an emergency about the tablet and they'll be here by tomorrow evening.”

“Who'll be here by tomorrow evening?”

“Some exhibits, um, your kid Nick and a guy named Cecil Fredricks?”

Everyone froze.

“Wait, run that by me again. _Who's coming?!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late chapter, here's your cliff-hanger.


	7. Wind Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Progress is made in steps, and Nicky's arrival may bring some vital clues.

 

Nick has never taken a liking to flying. Not that he didn't travel often. He likes travelling, but only flies when the air sickness is worth it.

The impatient foot tapping is both a sign of anxiety and nervousness. He's tried calling his father- no results there. Nick's starting to wonder if something's happened to him. (No, he's _sure_ something's happened.)

He's pretty sure the old lady in the waiting seat beside him is starting to get peeved; his foot tapping is shaking the whole set of benches. He tries to lose himself in the internet.

He flips through news articles in his tablet. Nothing mentioning a dead, middle-aged american in London. But that wasn't anything concrete. Nick chewed on his lip and flipped through more articles, sliding them across the screen.

“First time out of the city dearie?”

The old woman startles him. Nick brings his heart back into the right place and smiles at her.

“Nah, just first time in a while.”

The lady smiles and points at the tablet screen.

“That one is interesting. You should read it.”

Nick looks down. Its a short article, something about Egypt.

“Aren't you young ones all bout mummies now?”

Nick thinks against telling her he's in his twenties; he doesn't look the part with the jeans and frayed hoodie.

“Something like that. I'll read it.”

Nick looks down and his eyes land in the middle of the text, right on one name.

_Kahmunrah._

* * *

 

As the curator of the British museum checks through the exhibits before opening hours, he walks through the silent halls without noticing the extra guest who sleeps within. He passes by the Egypt hall with no pause at the Jackal and passes by the storage dock with even steps.

He idly flips through papers, detailing three transfers; two to the museum this week and one out in six months time. The two coming in are both on the same day, hours apart. The first will be a restoration from the American Museum of Natural History. After that a donation from Cairo.

What a busy week, the curator thinks as he walks the halls. Has he informed the night guard? Better remind her.

* * *

 

Nick isn't riding with Cecil, since he's a less trusty person to the board, so he gets an economic flight to London. He manages to emergency text Cecil before they call his flight number though.

When Cecil opens the link he was texted, he is greeted by a headline. He thinks that maybe Larry's death has been reported, and fumbles for his reading glasses. When the words clear however, Cecil sees a second problem.

> **_“Mummies of Pharaoh Kahmunrah and Sisters found: more clues to a shrouded period of Ancient Egypt.”_ **

* * *

 

The night jobs take a lot out of Tilly; and coupled with the anxiety of more recent news, she sleeps through noon. And afternoon. She sleeps till hunger stirs her and the alarm wakes her. She wakes with a start and flails her arms in the direction of the sound. She lifts her phone to her eyes and groan.

“Crud. Two hours.”

Two hours till work, two and a half till the transfer happens and Larry's demise is… processed again. Tilly sees the ways this night will play out. Larry will lie, or try to. The threat to the tablet will cause chaos.

It is with no surprise that Laa jumps to the forefront of Tilly's mind, and she buries her head into a pillow. Guilt and selfish anticipation wage war.

“Arghhhh.”

Tilly lifts her head from the pillows and checks her phone. A missed alarm, facebook notifications, two or three emails and… a text message from her boss.

 _“Tilly, forget to mention, cargo coming in from Cairo after the AMNH thing at 3 am-ish. Surprise?_  
( ^ω^ )  
ps, loving these Japanese emoji things”

Tilly stares at the phone. Did the curator just spring this up-

“Friggin-”

* * *

 

To night dwellers, the setting of the sun marks the beginning of their cycles. Pubs open, shifts are switched and a museum comes to life.

There is an order to who wakes up first. The first ones to wake are those who have once lived.

In the Egyptian gallery, mummies re-animate with the creaking of bones. Those not locked down aid those who are- Cleppatra has people lifting her lid for her, as with Shepseheret. They hear the thumps of Trixy's steps from another room as she bounds off to find Lancelot. A wall of animal heads wake with a thunder of sounds.

Those of humanoid and animal form wake next.

Lancelot is given little time to wake before he steadies himself under Trixy's affectionate assault. Stone statues and metallic dancers stretch limbs. Minatutes burst forth in herds, carefully around those larger. Birds take flight, some dropping before their wings fully wake.

Then paintings, carvings and mythical creatures. Those who can abandon their frames while the rest content themselves with the carry of sounds.

All these happen under Tilly's gaze, and they gather in the lobby. Ahkmenrah's tablet sends underlying impulses- it tells them today is different. There is warriness in the air.

“Okay guys listen up,”

Tilly sees them squeeze in, sees them worried. The Egyptians who overheard yesterday's quick exchange spread the rumour.

_A threat looms over us._

“There's a bit of an thing going on tonight. Tablet emergency. A transfer from the AMNH is coming in to help so sit tight. We'll have any wrinkles ironed out okay? But just to make sure, be a bit more careful until we give the all clear.”

Restless fidgeting and murmurs trail as the exhibits leave. Tilly turns to Larry, Ahkmenrah and his parents.

“They'll be here in ten. I've gotta go outside to let them in.”

Tilly eyes Larry, and the calm acceptance he wears. Then to Ahkmenrah, and the pale but firm face. Then she glances to a doorway, where a waiting Lancelot glances between them and the rest of the museum. She should probably mention the last minute news later when everything is calmer.

“We will wait at the loading Bay then.”

Ahkmenrah gives a nod, and Tilly leaves, nearly fleeing from the oppressive air.

* * *

 

As Nick pulls up the van, he notices Tilly's tight smile. Just what did McPhee tell her they were here for? The apocalypse?

Nick pauses at the gates as Tilly opens them. He sticks his head out and grins.

“Laa absolutely insisted that he come.”

Tilly's face lights up with enough watts to power Vegas.

“Who else is here?”

“Same people as last time. Speaking of last time,”

Nick leaned further out the window, and Tilly catches a glimpse of another man, an old man who must be the infamous Cecil Fredricks.

“Has my dad been here?”

_Oh kid, you have no idea._

“Yeah. Larry's inside waiting with the rest.”

Nick watched the uneasy flicker in Tilly's eyes, the purse of lips. Maybe he said something, or he knew. But Tilly said he was waiting right? How ever bad it was, _at least he wasn't dead._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. Am. So. Sorry. 
> 
> This is late, and i know it. The muse has been sparse in presence and my procrastination knows no boundaries. The plot bunnies know no boundaries either. 
> 
> Unfortunately, the story may be stalled for a while, despite me knowing where to take it. Until i get my pheasant hands on the NATM blu ray the story will flow slowly. 
> 
> Sorry! But part of next chap is written, so it may come soon.


	8. Of magic and darker magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone drops bombs, from Cecil to the exhibits, Larry to Nick and Tilly (sort of) to everyone else

 

Waking up is odd.

The flow and stutter of magic as it touches waxy limbs it has not touched for months, seeping in and making it flesh once more is odd. All a watcher may see is a soft, glow of gold and a nearly invisible transformation as inanimate material loses its unnatural sheen to become warm flesh.

For Teddy, his mind returns first. Wisps of consciousness that are pulled forth from nothingness by greater powers. Next are his organs, marked with the beginning of a faux heartbeat. Wax imitates the flow of blood. Bones harden and phoney skin attains the texture of true flesh.

Teddy awakens with the general idea of where he is. In a box. Presumably in London. There was enough magic left from Ahkmenrah's last visit that Teddy could sense his surroundings even while inanimate, but not enough. He would need to confer with someone. So he called out to the rest of the box.

“Good evening, everyone. It seems we are in London.”

A scuffle of noise from Attila. A vigorous yell from Laa. A screach from Dexter. Then he heard Sacagawea's melodious voice.

“Good evening Teddy.”

_Ah, sweet Sacagawea._

“Are you guys giving each other the eyes in the dark?”

“Pardon him, if you will.”

Teddy nodded in the general direction of the voices. Everyone was here then  

“Jedediah. Octavius. Should we courteously wait for someone to open the box or should we-”

From outside, they hear alarm, a rise of voices.

“Busting out it is then.”

The smile on Jedediah's face makes itself audible in his tone  

“Laa!”

The caveman agreed, and proceeded to demonstrate his agreement by punching the box's lid off.

* * *

 

Larry was movie person. He didn't do critique, but he enjoyed the activity of watching. There was something nice about just watching and not participating. Or, knowing that the disastrous mess he was seeing wouldn't have to cleaned by him. (His life, around the time he picked up this hobby, had started to very much look like a comedy movie. Funny to an outsider, a sore wreck to the protagonist.)

Larry had also seen enough movies and had enough experience to know withholding earth-shattering information to his very much grown child was- well, not an option.

To say Larry knew how to break the news to Nicky was an entirely different matter.

“So… erm, Nick, what brings you here?”

“Funny you should say that. It has something to do with my father, who has yet to return five days of missed calls after he gave me one, weird message. Have you seen him?”

Sarcasm bites, and justified sarcasm from your son is ten times the sting.

“Yeah, um, weird things have happened.”

He is spared elaborating by Ahkmenrah, which is not necessarily a good thing.

“What is he doing here?”

One accusing finger was pointed at Cecil. Sensing the venom in his voice, Shepseheret and Merenkahre move towards their son with narrowed eyes.

Cecil clears his throat and makes one fatal mistake.

“I'm Cecil J Fredricks.”

Larry lurches forward as an Anubis statue poises a spear. Nick steps back into Lancelot and jumps as his skin touches cold metal.

“Everyone calm down-”

“I refuse to.”

Larry is reminded that the man- a boy who was barely an adult- is Pharaoh, and the coldness of his voice reminds him too that he is much older than he seems. _Old enough._

“Ahkmenrah?”

Larry's greatest aid in the museum has always been Teddy, and it seems that will remain the same no matter where or when.

“Mr Fredricks has something to say. If you would calm yourself, and wait till then?”

Teddy has always been strong in his words, but Sacagawea's voice is the calm one, the soothsayer. Ahkmenrah nears his lips to his parent's ears and whispers softly. Whatever he says convinces Merenkahre to lower the spear, but the tension is never more visible. Cecil's life may depend on his next words.

“Okay Cecil. You've got something to say. Why don't we hear it?”

Larry moves to Ahkmenrah's side and places one hand in his, a gesture of comfort. Nick chooses to stand by Cecil, perhaps to guarantee that the man will continue to breathe or whatever information they held was binding.

“Several days ago, Reginald was murdered. His last message was “they're looking for the object- L knows. I assume L is you, Larry.”

Cecil pauses at Larry's head shaking.

“I've never talked to Reginald since I asked you about the expedition. Hell, I've never had a full conversation with him since you first got arrested.”

Cecil frowned.

“Are you sure? Do you know anyone who could be L?”

Larry shrugged. Out of the three ex-night guards, Reginald was the one he knew the least. He had full conversations with Cecil, several jibes with Gus but all he shared with Reginald were short phrases. He feels slightly guilty about that.

From the crest of Atilla's hat, Jedediah spoke out.

“You seem weirdly sure the object Reginald mentioned was the tablet.”

“It was the code we used before. We call the tablet or something related to it ‘the object’.”

Ahkmenrah pushes the bitter taste in his mouth with his tongue- memories of… uncomfortable times have risen to surface of his mind. (He has saved ‘bad’ for that one night of pain thousands of years ago.)

“That's why we're here, in short. There's a murderer looking for the tablet, and we thought you were killed too.”

Cecil eases away and hunches into a non-threatening pose. Nick throws himself into the silence in an effort diffuse the situation with a laugh

“Well, thank god you're not dead right?”

A failed effort, but an effort nonetheless.

“Erm, Nick? I kinda have to tell you something.”

“Yeah?”

Nick isn't the only looking at him expectantly, the newcomers are nearing in and the London group have started to shuffle around. Larry is starting to get nervous.

“So I, um, got stabbed a few days ago, died, brought over here and got resurrected by the tablet.”

Nick blinked at him. Stuffing that statement into one breath might not have preserves it's coherency… one more try, then.

“I'm dead, Nick. I died a few days ago. The tablet resurrected me-”

“ **What?!”**

Everyone shifted. Nick towards Larry, exhibits in a collision, Cecil backwards and Tilly waved a flashlight into the fray  

“Hey now, if everyone just stays calm-”

It was that moment, anticlimactically, a horn sounded from outside.

“Hey! Delivery from Cairo! Anyone there? I haven't got all night!”

Everyone turned to Tilly as she choked out a laugh.

“Did I, um, forget to mention that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, and even sorrier because next chapter might take as long… NATM muse is dry!   
> Good news is, Exam season is ober here and the holidays are coming in to heal us in Singapore so stay tuned for an increase in rate of fanfiction.

**Author's Note:**

> Re write happening, will go up some time in 2016


End file.
